#devil!joel miller

[noxturnalnymph]

The Devil's Wife

Devil!Joel x Witch!OFC (7.1k) DARKAU! Joel Miller where he is the literal Devil, and the OFC is a witch named LUNA with moderate physical description. 

Summary: OFC is a witch who is a member of an elite coven who take their relationship with their Dark Lord quite seriously. This upper echelon of witches practice the darkest of magic and initiation to their circle involves a wedding ceremony that has them pledging their lives and bodies in unholy union to Lucifer himself. What happens when one of his brides (ofc) calls upon her betrothed for help one Halloween night? Will the Devil rise to save her? And what will be the cost of his rescue?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Satanic worship, witchcraft, SEX, satanic panic seduction, coercion, DubCon, monsters of the blood-drinking variety, talk of blood, violence, and death.

A/N: Entirely based on a dream I had last year but never got around to writing it. Is it Joel Miller, or is it just Pedro in a black suit? I don't know, who cares? Just enjoy it (or don't). Happy Halloween!!

The clouds part just as she steps out into the chilly October air, showcasing the sliver of the waning crescent moon hanging precariously in the sky. A breeze gusts down the alley, scraping leaves along the pavement and blowing her skirt tightly against her ankles. She pulls her maroon cloak over her head and forces herself against the wind, heading towards the warm glow of the sidewalk streetlamp.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home, Luna?” a tender voice calls from behind her.

She turns towards the voice, her friend and fellow witch Jadis following her out of their coven’s late-night gathering. The shorter witch’s honey-colored eyes probe as she tucks her lower lip between her teeth. Her rich, dark skin blends completely with the alley but begins to look like melted chocolate as the orange glow of the street crosses her rounded face. Jadis draws her cloak tight around her middle, mumbling about the cold and the hour of the meeting’s conclusion.

“You live in the opposite direction than I do,” Luna says, forcing a smile on her cheeks against the numbing chill of the wind, whipping violently now that they’re out in the open.

“I just worry about you walking all that way alone-”

“It’s Halloween, my friend,” she interrupts. “The streets are full of revelers.”

“But it’s 3am!” her friend counters.

“Then the streets will be full of drunks,” she says, clapping her hands together and silencing any further refutation from her worrisome cohort. “I shall be perfectly fine, just as I always am.”

They part ways with a hug and the lone witch cinches her hood tighter, marching down the street against the wind with her head held high. She makes it to the edge of the cemetery, humming a tune in harmony with the whistling wind, before she starts to have regrets about her late-night walk. It’s not the temperature of the biting air, the tedious walk through the village to her little part of the woods, or the spookiness of the creeping fog rolling through the wrought-iron gate that runs alongside the stiff gravestones. It’s partly the snickering she keeps hearing popping up behind her - potentially drunk frat boys about to play games with the wrong witch, but mostly the wet shoe she’s currently plodding on - having just stepped ankle-deep into a freezing puddle formed between the broken sidewalk stones.

“Girl,” she hears them whisper for the tenth time. 

She looks ahead of her just in time to see a large dark figure curl around the tall brick column that marks the entrance gate of the cemetery. Great, she thinks, they got brave enough to come out and play. She stealthily moves her hand to her inner pocket, grabbing hold of a small vial of a special brew she concocted for situations such as this. She sees his pale painted face contort into a nefarious grin, the dim lights dotting the street glinting off his elongated canines. Another Twilight fan, she groans, rolling her eyes in the shadow of her cloak.

“Little red riding hood,” the fiend croons, stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

She hears the scraping footsteps of at least two of his friends closing in behind her.

“Sorry Sparkles, I’ve got a date with the big bad wolf,” she mutters, attempting to step around him.

His cold hand reaches out faster than she expected, grabbing onto her arm. Cursing, she tries to pull her arm free from his grip but hears his nails ripping against the fabric of her cloak. What kind of claws did this guy put on tonight? She thinks he must be sobering up from whatever party he skulked out of, because his hold remains firm and he yanks her back to face him. She hears the scuffling come to a halt behind her, as his companions resume their snickering laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” he draws each word out purposefully.

A thought occurs to her that bruising her arm with his grip might actually be what is considered rude, but she doesn’t bother to voice it. Mortals can be so irksome when they’ve imbibed enough alcohol to embolden their twisted desires and put action to troubling behaviors. Pulling it out of her cloak, she lifts her unrestrained arm high, the small vial clutched tight in her hand, and drops it to the ground swiftly.

It breaks open with a soft tinkle, dark smoke rising from the cobbled stones, obscuring her surroundings and sending her would-be attackers into a coughing fit. She feels his hold loosen as she slips her arm away, stepping aside and darting into the cemetery gate beyond, leaving them behind to suffer her spell. She manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside her and slinks along the pathway in the ancient resting place, ducking under old tree boughs and over wet blades of overgrown grass.

A short while later she finds herself nearing the back edge of the cemetery, the western woods looming just beyond. She would have preferred to take the worn pathways into the forest - her forest - to trek back to her cozy cottage home, but those bothersome boys have changed her plans. No matter, this way will be faster, she’ll just have to deal with cleaning the mud off her shoes and clothes when she gets home. She reaches to unlatch the creaking gate at the back fence, its lock long since broken, when freezing cold fingers lace over her bare arm.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he hisses.

She gasps a breath that doesn’t fill her lungs. How did he escape the effects of her potion? The tall, pale-faced man stands before her once again. She looks down at his hand, ghostly white against her skin, darkened veins showing even in the low light, and long dirty nails sharpened to a dangerous point. It doesn’t really look like a costume now that she’s up close. She drags her eyes to his face, noting the dark hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His coal-black eyes. His dark red mouth twists into a smile once again and she is beginning to think his sharp incisors aren’t part of a costume either.

“Monster,” she spits. “Unhand me.”

She spins out of the way just as one of the others snaps his jaws next to her ear, missing his target. With her arm still ensnared she is unable to move very far, and collides into the chest of the third, a rotten scent wafting off him hitting her nostrils as she stumbles towards the ground. Out of the clutches of the creature once again, she scuttles back, cornering herself against an old sunken grave with a broken headstone.

She reaches her left hand out in front of her, palm facing them, momentarily halting their movements. The plain band on her fourth finger glints off the moonlight, catching her attention. It gives her an idea.

“You bloodsuckers don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?” she hums, cracking a sideways smile.

The two giggling figures skip around her in circles as the towering demon lowers his face to meet hers, a wet smirk curving his face into a twisted visage.

“Why don’t you enlighten us,” he replies.

“My husband is-” 

Her next words are replaced by a piercing shriek, as the fangs of one of the beasts connect with the left side of her neck. She feels his sharp teeth ripping through her delicate skin and the pain burns across her in a fiery wave. Before she can fight him off, the grinning ghoul in front of her grabs her arm yet again, the left one with the simple golden ring, sinking his greedy maw into her wrist. Sharp pain shoots up her arm and her lungs empty on a scream. She sucks in air to cry out again but a filthy hand is clamped over her mouth first, muting the wail she attempts when the third monster’s teeth pierce the flesh of her other arm just above her elbow.

She lies on her back on the ground, the pain searing through her quickly giving way to a numbness washing across her skin. With the cool soothing of the pain comes a stilling calm, altogether paralyzing her from fighting back or even wanting to. The grimy hand slides from her lips as her mouth fails to make any additional sounds. My husband, she mouths the words. Her eyes drift to her left hand, her wedding ring just beyond the monster’s head still reflecting light, even as blood drips from her wrist across her fingers. 

He’s going to kill you, she thinks, unable to even form words now.

The cemetery has turned dark and she slowly realizes that she must have closed her eyes. She can still hear the wind whipping through the trees, creaking branches and blowing dried leaves against the fence nearby. There are no other noises among the silent tombs other than the sloppy slurping noises of the three vampires who are draining her body. 

She sees a dim light in the distance, like a flickering candle. No, she thinks, it can’t be a candle because her eyes are closed. She watches the candle getting closer to her, or maybe she’s getting closer to it. The bright orange glow from the candle becomes clearer as it nears, until finally she sees it right in front of her.

It’s a solitary tapered black candle, gently burning as wax drips slowly along its side. It’s just like the candle she lit at her initiation ceremony, she thinks. The coven of witches she belongs to is elite and extremely difficult to join. Her aunt had extended the invite when she showed rare magical aptitude as a teenager. Only second daughters can join, as the condition of induction was to pledge your body, mind, and life in unholy matrimony to the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. She was honored to be chosen and after many years of apprenticeship, she lit the black candle on a full moon a little over a year ago. It was identical to the candle she is looking at now, the candle she lit at her wedding to the Devil.

The flame before her suddenly gutters and goes out, leaving her in complete darkness.

***

She feels it before she senses anything else, the warmth spreading across her face, radiating out from her lips. Her cheeks burn against the freezing wind and her hair, no longer bound by her cloak, tickles wispy tendrils across her forehead. Long moments pass as the warmth spreads and finally she opens her eyes, suddenly swallowing a scream. Except she can’t scream. There is a man pressing his lips to hers.

She is being kissed by a stranger. 

A man with deep espresso eyes meets her gaze, dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He pulls back from her, his facial hair tickling her lip as his mouth curls into a shy smile.

“Welcome back” his voice, thick as syrup, coats her consciousness.

“I-,” she starts, realizing that the warmth is now spreading down her chest, across her stomach, and flowing into her arms and legs. “Did I-”

“Die?” he finishes quietly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen, the sharp teeth of the creatures coming back to the forefront of her mind. She looks around frantically, suddenly worried they might return to rip into her flesh and drain her dry.

“They’re gone,” he answers the question she didn’t ask.

He rises up onto his feet, and she sees he’s dressed in all black. He wears pressed black trousers and shiny dress shoes that somehow don’t have a speck of mud on them. He tugs on his black suit jacket, straightening it, and presses his hand over his black shirt and tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. This man looks like he just came from a fancy gala, she thinks, not that he was just crouched over her lifeless form in a dirty cemetery.

He reaches his hands out to her and she surprisingly takes them without question, allowing him to help her to her shaky feet. Before she can protest he wraps an arm around her waist and although part of her wants to object she knows that she wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he hadn’t done so.

“Let me walk you home,” he says softly, guiding her to the back gate and basically carrying her along the neglected path into the woods.

She doesn’t speak, although her mind is racing a mile a minute. Did she really die? She remembers being attacked by the vampires and not being able to fight them off but she doesn’t remember what happened after that. She weakly raises her left hand up, inspecting her wrist and seeing nothing but unblemished skin absent of any marks including any dried blood that should be there, remembering how it ran in rivulets from the monster’s wet lips. She brings her fingers to her neck, brushing them over smooth skin there as well. It would seem that her bite wounds have somehow been healed and she has been cleaned of any and all evidence of her attack.

Who in the world is this man, she wonders. Maybe the vampires left and he luckily showed up just in time, perhaps reviving her somehow. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who just fought off three bloodsucking beasts and how could he anyways, without being attacked himself? It isn’t until they reach the clearing in the woods where her small cottage sits, a lantern on the porch giving off a warm glow, that she realizes she never told him where she lived.

She pulls away, feeling a bit stronger now, and wanting to distance herself from the seemingly kind but rather unusual man who has inexplicably returned her to her secluded abode. Wait, was that mouth-to-mouth or was he kissing her when she was dead? She gives him a sideways glance and plasters the most polite smile she can manage onto her face. Smoothing strands of her tousled hair away from her face, she turns to him and her eyes widen as the man in black reaches forward and plucks a leaf out of her hair. He drops it, letting the wind carry it away as he smiles sweetly at her, looking harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you for-,” 

“What is your name?” he interrupts.

“Oh-, I-, Luna,” she stammers, caught off guard by his inquiry.

“Luna,” he repeats, drawing her name out as he wraps his lips around the vowels.

“Yes, and thank you for-” she attempts again, trailing off as he slowly steps around her, continuing to walk towards her porch. “-for helping me, I guess,” she finishes, turning to follow him while wondering what she’s really thanking him for. Did he save her? “I don’t know how to repay you,” she speaks to his back as he climbs up the steps, “but I’m thankful for your assistance.”

“Do you live out here all alone?” he asks, ignoring the gratitude she’s attempting.

“That’s-,” none of your business, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be rude so instead she says, “this cottage has been in my family for generations.”

It’s not a lie. She is - in fact - the only member of her family living in the one-bedroom dwelling right now but it has been lived in by members of her family for over two hundred years.

“It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door she knows she locked when she left the house earlier today with no resistance.

She wants to protest that she can take care of herself, which is her usual response when people say things like this, but given what has transpired tonight she bites her tongue. Instead she follows him as he enters her home without invitation, drawn into the main room. She watches as he closely inspects framed photos on the walls, touches the spines of old books on her bookshelf, and toggles the flue of her chimney as he passes the hearth.

She wants to ask him to leave. No, she wants to physically shoo him out of her home. Who does this man think he is and what right does he have to waltz into her home and parade around as if it were his own? She reaches towards the vial in her pocket only to bitterly recall having already used it tonight in her attempt to disable her attackers. 

She follows a way behind him, straightening what he’s poking out of alignment and trying to ignore her growing sense of unease. She looks up at the man in black to find him stopped and standing very close to her. She gasps in a sharp breath as he seems to examine her with a curious stare. A long moment of silence passes as a gentle smile builds on his face. She pushes past the knots forming in her stomach in an awkward attempt to match his gesture.

“You’re married?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows knit, surprised by the query.

“You were mumbling about a husband when I found you,” he explains, pointing to the golden ring on her finger as further evidence.

“Oh, I-,” and she pauses, unsure of how to proceed. 

She turns towards the fireplace, using the hand he motioned towards to push some dust around the thick wooden mantle. She curses herself. She should have said she lived here with her husband when he asked if she was alone but he’s already come to the conclusion she is the solitary occupant of the tiny cottage. But she is wearing a wedding ring and he apparently heard her talking about her husband in the cemetery. She can’t very well explain to this mortal man in black that she’s married to the Devil, he’ll come back with a pitchfork carrying mob. Best case scenario is she winds up in a psych hospital and worst case is that she becomes kindling.

Wait, how did he hear her talking about her husband, she thinks? She only remembers mentioning him to the vampires before the attack and then any words beyond that didn’t seem to leave her mind. 

She whips back around to find him standing even closer now and before she can react he grabs her left hand in his. She opens her mouth to scream but he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss right over her wedding band. A warmth spreads across her hand and up her arm, jolting her body as images play across her mind.

***

Her body lay bloodless over the damp soil of someone else’s grave. Three greedy ghouls, licking crimson from their craws, eyes glistening with glee. The thrashing wind comes to an eerie still and the man in black materializes in the shadows of a nearby willow. He stalks silently but the creatures see him coming and let out a loud hiss, frantically fleeing at the mere sight of him. The man in black raises his hand, snapping his fingers, and white-hot flames instantly engulf each vampire. He stops to watch them burning, their tormented howls piercing the night, until they are nothing but shadows and ash carried away on the breeze. He moves to his knees at her side, touching the ring on her left hand reverently, before he leans down and places his lips over hers.

***

She takes in a deep breath, her lantern-lit cabin coming back into focus around her, the man in black still bowed slightly in front of her, lips against her hand. He raises his head and his rich brown eyes meet hers once more, only this time she knows exactly who she’s looking at.

“Hello, wife,” he smiles sweetly.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead as she attempts to pull back her hand from his gentle grip, which tightens in response over her delicate fingers. She’s no longer a stranger to the true nature of the man in black who stands in front of her, having sacrificed her immortal soul to him in order to draw on his supernatural influence to fuel her dark magic. But to have him actually standing in her living room, the raw power radiating off him is enough to make her bones ache, and she finds herself stunned and a bit scared. She continues to try and wriggle out of his crushing grip until he stills her with his words.

“Aren’t you lonely out here all alone?” he questions, his lips still upturned into a saccharine grin.

“No I-, I prefer to be alone,” she stutters.

“Is that why you want me to leave even though I just got here?” his mouth turns to a frown.

“No!” She exclaims. “I don’t want you to leave, I just-”

“I did exactly what you wanted, didn’t I?” He lets go of her as he begins to circle her in the small space. “You wanted me to destroy those monsters who dared to lay a finger on you and I did. And then I fixed you up good as new. Well… almost” he winks at her as he tucks a loose strand of her messy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, I was-,” she shakes her head, the nerves sending a hot wave up her neck to burn at her cheeks. “Thank you,” she stammers.

“You don’t have to thank me, wife,” he hums. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours…” she trails off.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You are.” He strokes his fingers against her cheek, so warm against her still-chilled skin. “You were saying something about repayment and I think I’d like to make a request.” His smile is sickly sweet once again, boring deep into her.

“Oh-,” she starts before he grabs both her hands in his, silencing her.

“I think I’d like another kiss.”

Another, she thinks, because their first kiss was when she was… deceased.

“Yes,” he continues as if reading her thoughts. “Our first kiss felt like ‘Snow White and the Prince who woke her from her slumber’. But our story isn’t a fairytale, is it my dear bride?”

“No,” she whispers tentatively.

“No,” he agrees. “Our story is one of dedication,” he places his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “Of adoration,” he continues, pushing down until she sinks to her knees. “Of worship,” she tilts her chin to look up at his dark gaze above her now. “And that deserves a very different kind of kiss, don’t you agree?”

She manages to nod her head slightly as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Watching as he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants, she’s not surprised to see how well-endowed he is but is a bit shocked at how stiff he’s already become.

He cups his right hand around her neck, pushing his length towards her face with his other hand. She finds herself pursing her lips together in a kiss only to have him push past them into her empty mouth. Of course she knew what he wanted, not just a kiss, but she’s still feeling a bit disoriented. He makes tentative, shallow thrusts while her hands rest on the front of his thighs before she hears him muttering above her through clenched teeth.

“Come now, wife, I thought you were grateful.”

She reaches to grip him and puts some effort into her ministrations. It’s not that she’s inexperienced but it has been a while since she was with a man, since before her wedding ceremony certainly. When she pledged her body to the Dark Lord, she certainly wasn’t envisioning having to perform an act such as this. However, she figures the best course of action is to not just let him take what he wants, but to give him an unforgettable experience. It's in her best interest to show him how appreciative she really is of his rescue.

She pulls her head back, swirling her tongue over his tip, while pumping him firmly with one hand. When she hears him moan in response and grab her hair in his fist, she knows she’s on the right track. She flattens her tongue along her bottom teeth and lets him guide her head up and down, taking him deeper with each pass until she begins to make choked gagging noises.

He lets go and she pants, wiping away the drool that now streaks her chin and hears him chuckle above her at the sound of her gasping breaths. Before she can stop herself, she scratches her nails down his thighs, probably harder than she should have given the fact that he’s the Prince of Darkness. A hissing intake of breath is followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that seems to reverberate off the walls of the small cabin and vibrate deep in her chest, and then his hand is back in her hair in a rough, twisting tug.

He shoves himself past her lips in one go this time, hitting the back of her throat with a gurgle and this time she lets him use her mouth like a toy, grabbing at his ass and holding on tightly. This goes on for several agonizing minutes, him allowing her to gulp in much-needed air in between the rough, dominating ramming of his pelvis into her chin. Finally she hears him cry out just as he pulls away, immediately grabbing himself tightly at the base of his shaft and shaking his head.

“Oh, that was close,” he says breathlessly, laughing without humor. “That lovely mouth of yours is so decadent, wife, that I almost lost control.”

Good, she thinks, and she can’t stop the smug smile that creeps across her face.

“Proud of yourself my little witch?” He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, brushing away escaped saliva from her cheek. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one being so deliciously tormented.”

At this point she has no idea what to expect of him but grabbing her off the floor and throwing her over his shoulders was certainly not something she anticipated, so the surprised wail that escapes her lips is almost inaudible to human ears. She hears him chuckle yet again as they pass through the door concealed as a bookcase to carry her into her bedroom. The man in black walks through this home as if he owns it, she thinks, before she recalls herself bowing before a black altar and offering everything she possesses in service to him. 

Perhaps this house is more his than hers, she recognizes, as she hears him hum in agreement to a thought she didn’t speak out loud. Before she can question his possible reading of her thoughts she’s deposited onto her four-poster bed, with its velvet emerald curtains wrapped around walnut-hued spires, vines carved in swirls around them. Her vision focuses on the man in black before her only to realize that he’s no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. She opens her mouth to speak but her eyes catch on her own body, laid bare in front of him.

“How- ohhh,” her questioning is cut short when he dives forward, spreading her legs and latching his mouth to her core in one fluid movement. 

He drags his tongue up her seam and then closes his lips around her sensitive nub. He begins to pulse his tongue against her and she is unable to stop herself from immediately crying out in pleasure. She’s positive that he knows exactly what he’s doing when in under sixty seconds her back is already bowing off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets, her voice crying out in ecstasy.

He pulls back and gently places kisses on the insides of her thighs, she feels the warm huffing breath of his laughter blowing across her wetness. He gives her a short moment of reprieve before he slowly pushes a gloriously thick finger into her wet heat, moving to swirl his tongue across her overstimulated bundle of nerves. He lets her writhe and wiggle, attempting to move away only until the sensitivity fades and she finds herself grinding her center towards his face for more.

Somehow she has her wits about her enough to grab his hair this time, eliciting a hum of approval from him that she feels vibrate against her. She’s proud to see that she’s able to hold out a bit longer before her orgasm tips her over the edge, but her ego crumbles when instead of stopping he continues his ministrations to bring a third crashing wave of pleasure immediately after the second.

Delicious torment, indeed.

He pulls his face back again, glistening with her arousal and smiles a devilish grin, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are nearly black. He roams up her body, placing kisses that feel more like bites than smooches, devouring with his eyes what his mouth can’t reach.

“Husband,” she keens, the desperation in her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

The responding growl that escapes his chest seems to shake not only the room but the entire forest around them, vibrating deep into the wood foundation. He grabs her ankles and spreads her legs obscenely wide, notching his thick head at her entrance and sliding it back and forth, coating himself in her wetness. He waits until she’s clawing at his chest, head thrown back and begging him in frenzied babbles, and only then does he finally push himself into the clutch of her.

“My magnificent mate, what an agreeable display of thankfulness you’ve given me today,” he proclaims, setting a fervent pace. “So welcoming to your dark angel, eagerly performing such valued wifely duties for him,” he continues to prattle, more for his sake than her own since all she can manage in response is frenzied moaning. “Perhaps I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, my wanton little witch.”

He pushes on the back of her legs, driving her knees towards her chest and hitting inside her at a new angle that causes her to scream out in bliss. She wraps her own arms around her legs, holding them tight to her as he mutters words of encouragement and praise. She feels another orgasm building inside her, starting as a tingle at the base of her spine.

He leans forward and spans his large hand across her throat. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, giving her no time to respond before he’s demanding more answers. “Who’s the only one who gets you down on your knees? Who is the only one who makes you come? Who do you belong to? Who? Who?”

She manages to scratch out a long wail of “you,” beneath the pressure of his hold before she starts to tremble and break apart, coming again in a seizing crest. In a half growl he demands she open her mouth and when she enthusiastically obeys he leans over her and spits, gripping tightly at her neck to feel her strained swallow. Only then does he let himself lose control, grabbing her hips with a bruising grip and pounding away half a dozen more times before he lets loose a roaring release, pumping his warm spend deep inside her.

***

She pads out of the shower, head and body wrapped in warm towels, and comes across her amorous husband perched on the edge of the bed once again dressed in his all-black ensemble. She sees him looking into the nightstand drawer he has opened and before he can reach his hand in to grab what she’s sure is something she’d be rather embarrassed to have to explain, she clears her throat. His hands still but he doesn’t appear surprised by her presence, likely having no qualms about being caught peeping through her unmentionables.

Wordlessly, he shoots her a glare, displaying ire that is no doubt driven by the trove of sex toys he’s just discovered stashed away in her bedside drawer. She shrugs and heads to her dresser, turning her back on him to pull out her pajamas and giving what she hopes is a flippant but playful reply. 

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself when I’m alone.”

He says nothing in response but she hears a throaty rumble and notices the flames dance higher for a moment in response. She turns to find him behind her, although she didn’t hear him approach, so close now that she can feel the heat of his body radiating onto her skin. He pulls the towel loose from her hair and caresses the side of her face, tucking some loose strands behind her ear. She bumps backwards against the dresser but stills as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Are you leaving?” she asks, hating the disappointment she hears evident in her voice.

“I have things to attend to, but worry not darling wife, I will return to you,” he speaks against her forehead and she isn’t sure if the flip her stomach does is from excitement or fear of his promise. “Be careful out here in these woods alone, it’s just not safe,” he echoes his earlier sentiment and she nods her head silently in a placating gesture. 

She shuffles her slippered feet, seeing him to the door and watches him as he walks until his dark form reaches the edge of the glow of the lantern lights and he slips back into the shadows.

***

“I can’t believe it,” Jadis guffaws, having listened to Luna’s entire recalling of the events of Halloween night.

“I swear to you, every word is true,” she lies, having told her friend the truth of the evening almost a fortnight ago up until the moment the man in black pushed her to her knees. Something about how the night ended made the whole encounter feel even more unbelievable, so she twisted the truth a bit to tell a story of a grateful wife ending the night with a chaste kiss instead.

“No, I can’t believe you waited two weeks to tell me about it!” the small witch exclaims loudly, both of them erupting into a fit of laughter, the hysterics sending the small car wobbling in its lane. “Did you tell the coven elders about it?” she wonders, having finally gotten a hold on her laughter and the steering wheel.

“Oh, Gods no,” Luna deflects. “This sort of thing is probably so commonplace, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m bragging.”

But that was another lie. She knew damn well that if the Morning Star himself had ever appeared before any of the other witches in her coven that entire memoirs would have been written about it, let alone engaged in the manner of acts that he had with her. She felt heat passing across her cheeks as her mind flashed through memories of them together. As for telling the coven, she was never one to brag and she didn’t want to set off any jealousies. 

Technically they were all married to him, each and every one of a long line of witches having given themselves over to him and while it gave them deep and lasting power, he’d never bestowed any personal gifts upon any of them. In nearly two centuries of recorded history of their coven, he had never whispered sweet nothings on the wind, sprouted flowers in a garden on an anniversary, or intervened at all in any of their daily lives.

Even while she practices this internal rationalization with herself she knows that it is also a lie and that the real reason she's kept it secret is that his visit to her had made her feel special. It made her feel like she might really be the powerful witch she’d been told she was while growing up and that even their Dark Lord took unique notice of her. It made her feel cared for, perhaps a feeling intensified by her solitary lifestyle and etched into her mind by his repeated reminders of her being “all alone in the woods”.

She remembers the way his warmth spread across her as he placed his lips over hers and the mischief that danced in his eyes when he stood above her in her living room. A buzzing feeling spreads down her chest and settles deep in her belly as she recalls the way he coaxed pleasure from her over and over again, and his delightful threat to keep a closer eye on her plays on repeat in her mind.

Loud sirens sound behind them, knocking her from her reverie and startling Jadis into quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Two large fire trucks speed by them, blaring horns and flashing lights. Behind them follow several police cars and two smaller fire department trucks. Once the raucous cavalcade passes, Jadis pulls back onto the road and follows along the darkening route out of town.

A short drive later as the car meanders along the winding drive into the woods, the fading sunlight gives way to quite a spectacle ahead of them. The woods ahead seem to be glowing a magnificent orange while red and blue lights flash blindingly against the tree trunks. A heavy fog obscurs the view as bundled figures run from truck to truck, dragging hoses around and shouting muffled orders from behind helmets with face masks.

Not fog… smoke.

Her woods are on fire. Her cottage is on fire. She ignores Jadis’ protests and jumps from the passenger seat of the car before it has even stopped moving, vaulting herself towards her home. Before she can get close she feels large arms wrap around her middle, stopping her forward movement as two firemen approach her with their arms out, trying to calm her down. Eventually she settles and the man holding her, dressed head to toe in firefighter gear, releases his grip around her while keeping one hand gently on her shoulder.

When the blaze is finally extinguished she lets the fireman who has comforted her guide her around the smoldering perimeter of what was her centuries-old home. The inferno had burned hot and quick and she doesn’t recognize anything to be salvageable, save for the cast iron cauldron she sees sitting among the fallen hearthstones. She turns to him in the dark, his face completely hidden behind his mask, and sees only her own image reflected in his visor; trails of tears streak her soot-covered cheeks and strands of hair chaotically twist in the wind, matching the mood of the evening.

She feels more tears stinging at her eyes and lets the broad-shouldered fireman turn her away from the sight of the destruction, tugging her against his smoke-scented jacket and tapping a gentle hand on her back in sympathy. She feels herself break open and let go, sobbing deeply into this stranger’s shoulder for several minutes before she takes deep breaths and slowly collects herself.

A tall, tie-wearing fireman approaches her alongside a shorter man sporting a police uniform and a very thick mustache. She turns to them, sniffling and wiping her tears from her face.

“Is there anywhere we can take you, Miss?” the officer questions with a nasally voice.

“Do you want us to call anyone, your husband maybe?” the warm voice beside her asks.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t see the ring,” the officer apologizes. 

“They think the fire may have originated from the nightstand in the bedroom, but the fire investigators are still working,” the tall man speaks in a deep soothing voice while she focuses on the glinting badge pinned to his chest that reads 'Fire Chief'.

“Can we take you back into town?” the officer continues. “Maybe there’s a hotel or somewhere your husband can meet up with you?”

She sniffles, the mention of her husband stinging at her wounded pride. The man in black had been attentive enough to bring her back from the dead but apparently not to stop her home from burning to the ground. Keep a closer eye, my ass, she thinks bitterly. She wants to be upset but a part of her tries to rationalize that she should still be grateful that he intervened at all on that violent Halloween eve. However, tonight’s events have the euphoric high of the last two weeks quickly wearing off, and she feels another jab of hurt that he hasn’t tried to contact her once since he left.

“I can drive you to your Aunt’s house,” a small voice speaks up behind her, and Luna emerges from the fog of her thoughts to realize that Jadis has been here the whole time.

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she nods a small thanks, taking her friend’s outstretched hand and letting herself be guided back towards the little car parked down the drive.

“Hey,” she hears a shy voice speak up. 

She turns around to see the familiar broad-shoulders of the fireman who has been her companion for hours. He takes large steps, coming to stand right in front of her in the drive and Jadis continues on to wait in the car, giving them privacy.

“Be careful, okay?” he pleads, and she opens her mouth to tell him she’ll be fine. “It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he finishes, reaching a gloved hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes, watching her own eyes go wide in the reflection of his visor. She reaches a hand forward slowly, grabbing the bottom of the mask. When he makes no move to stop her, she flips it up, knocking his helmet off of his head in the process. She knows what she’s expecting to see under the mask, or rather who she is expecting to see. 

What she doesn’t expect is for the entire uniform to collapse in front of her very eyes, landing in a limp pile on the ground at her feet as if nothing but a spectre had inhabited it. With shaking hands she leans down and grabs a small white paper sticking out of the collar of the empty jacket. She flips it over in her trembling fingers, reading it several times. It’s a business card for Joel Miller, a familiar face smiling from a photo on one side of the card. The Devil’s in the Details, Inc., it says, and below that is written ‘Home Building & Realty���, along with a local address and phone number.

On the back of the card is a handwritten note:

I always take care of what’s mine. xx - your loving husband

[ozarkthedog]

HEY OZIE DID YOU SAY DEVIL JOEL?!?!?!

I DID.

Ever since the Met Gala red trench coat outfit, Devil!Joel Miller has been on my mind. I was going to add Demon!Marc Spector into the mix but I may just leave it with Devil!Joel tempting Angel!Reader into a life of sin and depravity because one devilishly handsome man is more than enough lol

[ravensmadreads]

Do you think when joel beat that guard to death in the first ep with his bare fists and turned around after, he maybe expected to see Sarah standing there? Like he flashed back to the very first scene and was like: this is it. i did it. i saved her! ;only to see Ellie, and that's why he was so mad at ellie for so long because she was the daughter that he saved, only he didnt really want to save her, he wanted to save sarah. And every time he saved Ellie, he thought maybe this'll bring sarah back, and maybe this would, and maybe this will, until he died and he was like Oh. This will.

[almostfoxglove]

pedro pascal cinematic universe aus 20/?

the one where joel miller meets you at the crossroads. (insp)

[kentjohnson91]

[desolationofstephen]

Some more of my favourite Astro Bot cameos

[dinsdjrn]

the devils we keep | j. miller x f!reader

summary: After a messy end to things, you feel the only option left is to leave Jackson. For good. [wc: 1.6k]

a/n: this is part one of a series of standalones; they all follow Joel x same f!reader but at totally different points in their relationship.. they don't have to be read together or in any order.

content warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST with a side of ANGST, no use of y/n, established (and end of relationship), break up, post-outbreak!Joel, afab!reader, talks about loss and death, lack of communication, morning sex (blink and you'll miss it), graphic depictions of darkness, poorly edited, lmk if I missed anything <3

previous part | next part | masterlist

They always used to say that if you loved something, set it free, if it loved you back, it will return. Sometimes when you set someone free, they’ll still love you, and they’ll run as far away as they can.

The night offers some release, the darkness that surrounds you also understands you. It wraps its arms around you in a cold and unforgiving embrace, numbing your heart and soul. Momentarily releasing you from the ache that sits in where your chest meets your stomach. You thought that a “sinking heart” was just an expression, you have quickly learned, it’s a symptom.

You were not ignorant to heartbreak and pain, but previously it had come in exchange of survival. You didn’t have time to feel your heartbreak in the moment, you needed to keep moving and survive. The pain had always come later and your desire to survive always took president. So the dull ache in your chest was just a part of your daily routine.

“Movimiento es vida” your best friends voice rang in your head, movement is life. So you moved on from your grief, and moved forward to survive.

So you’ll take this pain, and you’ll push on, find somewhere new and start over.

Jackson had become so comfortable this past year you resided there. In all truthfulness, Joel had become so comfortable and he made it easy to forget a world beyond Jackson. He was someone you connected with so easily; he understood your best parts and forgave your worst.

You weren’t someone who was very good at connecting with others. Ever since you had lost your brother and best friend, you had become closed off. Maria, one of your only friends here, would describe you as a wallflower.

“Stoic and unreadable,” she would joke.

You would always roll your eyes at her. Jackson was safe but for the first few weeks you weren't convinced it was where you wanted to call home.

That was until you met Joel. He was arguably more closed off than you, but his scars matched yours. It was almost ironic how your pain matched his. You connected over the foals at the stables. Well, you and Ellie had connected over Shimmer. Joel came as a part of a package deal.

You had taught her all you could remember about horses and the equine world before the outbreak. It was what began to thaw your frozen heart; teaching Ellie how to ride, tack and untack, groom and even the different feeding protocols for the different horses. She wanted it all, and for the first time in so long you cared to share.

Your connection brought you closer to Joel, and proximity was all you needed to know that your heart matched his perfectly. You had originally planned on being two ships that had passed in the night, but life had other plans. Life with a little help from Tommy and Ellie.

None of that mattered anymore, the fondness that once sat in the memory of Joel had been buried beneath a field of darkness. Your whole life you could never seemed to pick up on when you had overstayed your welcome. Joel made it very clear that you had.

It can as a shock and surprise as you had always found yourselves talking about the future you had together. As you reflected, it was you who always brought up the future, he merely nodded along with you. Recently he had been more distant and cold, but in the moment this was a blind side.

“I think it’s time we both move on,” Joel said but wouldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you whispered.

“We had a good thing goin’, something comfortable…” he paused, “But we want… no, we need, different things.”

His gaze was on the ground.

“If you’re going sit here and tell me you need a change. And that change is to let go of me… then I want you to look me in the eye as you break what you promised to keep safe,” you seethed.

His gaze met yours, his eyes were cold as the day you had met. Secrets, pain, and distance that you couldn’t tap into were all that you were left with.

He bore into your soul as he ripped it from your body.

“We’re done here. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. You deserve more than that, but it’s all I can give.”

“Fuck you, Joel. Fuck this and fuck you,” you spat.

In some other world, you handled things more gently, but you’re certain that world beat and berate you with heartbreak after heartbreak.

So here you are, surrounded by darkness, letting the burning pain in your chest turn to numbness.

You laid in bed for a week, with only the memory of Joel to hold onto.

The way it felt to wake up late with him, when Ellie stayed with a friend and Joel stayed with you.

The way he would kiss the nape of your neck and trace his hands down the curve of your side from the swell of your breast to the top of your thigh. He would pull you in close pushing your ass against himself. Knowing exactly where to put his hands and lips to ignite a fire within you. Then he would move into you slowly, softly fucking you in then morning light. Whispering sweet nothings about how you could live in those moments forever.

All of those stolen touches, kisses, slow mornings and heated midnights. They were all ghosts of loves watermark. They drowned you, plagued your thoughts. You couldn’t escape them in this bed, this house, this city. Joel had infiltrated every corner, nook and cranny of your existence in Jackson, it made it impossible to breathe.

You hadn’t slept much since that night, because at least the darkness veiled the details of Joel the light seemed to amplify. It provided short moments where you could process half of a coherent thought. Those thoughts always brought you to the same place. Washington. You swore you wouldn’t go back after the QZ fell, but it is the only place you know you’ll find safety. Safety and ghosts from your past that wouldn't haunt you leaving you feeling cold and lifeless.

So in the darkness you packed what you would need for a few weeks travel. As the morning sun peeked over the mountains you knew what you had to do.

With your small pack over your shoulder and a backpack of food that would last a week or two if you rationed correctly, you headed up the hill to a house that was all too familiar.

You knocked gently on the door and it had opened a few moments later revealing a man, that you thought would be easy to say goodbye to. You were wrong.

“Tommy,” you whispered.

“Fuck,” he said, “I thought you were Joel.”

“I know you have patrol soon I won’t be long. Just had something I needed from you,”

“What is it?” He asked, dreading what the response might be.

“I need a gun and horse, to get me to Washington,”

“I was worried you might say that,” He raked his hand through his hair.

“I have to go. I can’t stay here any longer. Please Tommy, I can’t take it,” your voice broke as you pleaded.

"C'mon now is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?"

"I can't keep feeling this way Tommy. I've lost so much so quickly and had no choice in whether or not they left. This though? It's almost worse, he chose me and kept choosing me. Until one day he didn't anymore and I still have to face him. To face this town, it's tearing me apart. He chose this, he chose to lose me, and now it is my choice to keep moving, keep living." Tears threatened to break and you could barely speak above a whisper without your voice cracking.

“I understand,” he said putting his hands on your shoulders and pulling you into an unexpected hug.

“Let me get something for you and get you on your way,” he said.

“Thank y-“

“Under one condition,” he said.

“Anything,” you said.

“You find a way to tell me you’ve landed somewhere safe,”

“Promise.”

So you went to the stable to tack your horse, Blues, and secure your cargo. Tommy followed a few minutes later with a shotgun, ammo and hunting blade to get you through to Seattle.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you said offering him a smile.

“Hey, be safe out there, alright?” He pulled you in for one final hug.

“Tommy, uh, one more thing?”

“Shoot,” he said.

You pulled a clip from your hair. It was a tulip hair clip that Joel had found for you. The gold of the metal clip began rusting over at parts and the pink wasn’t as bright as you’re sure it had once been. Joel had found it for you when he learned how much you loved tulips and their sign of new life in the spring. How they came and went before all the other flowers and their was beauty in their brevity.

“Can you give this to Ellie? She won’t wear it it’s way too girly, but I just need her to know I’ll be with her aways,” you placed the clip in Tommy’s palm and he put it in his pocket.

“Go on now, before everyone’s up and tryna stop you,” Tommy nodded toward the door.

You mounted Blues and off you went through the gates of Jackson for what you were sure would be the last time. Not even a glance over your shoulder, if you looked back you’re not sure you would’ve made it past the tree line.

next part

comments, likes and rbs are so greatly appreciated

tags: @undrthelights @pedgeitopascal @tightjeansjavi @joelsversion & lmk if you would like to be added or removed in future <3

[djappleblush]

Have you ever sat down to read 17 fics all at once that the plots start to merge and you suddenly get an incoherent, jumbled mess of scenarios in your head you are no longer sure of what is happening

Or are you normal?

[pascalsbby]

The Devil & His Brother / II

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I / Masterlist

Summary: “Good, been staring out the window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger.

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

AKA: Bath time with the Millers 😈

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: 18 + mndi, DUBCON DRUG USE: enemies to lovers, heavy talk & use of drugs/pills, morally grey Millers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH Miller brothers instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & praying for the devil himself.

I feel like I'm sending out something so personal... and familiar in ways that I know aren't. Maybe that's how memories feel after a while.

God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wants forgiveness, he shouldn't have given us memory.

- Vi Khi Nao

“Can’t do it, Joel.” 

“Goddamnit.” His huff was deep and bothered by your apparent inability to do anything he asked of you.

His anger didn't sit with you, but himself. He didn't really know that, though. Doesn't feel too much beneath the thickness of his skull. Hard-headed fucker.

The scent of you hung leaden in the steam-filled bathroom. Iron. Blood. Something saccharine that made him ache as he peeled your clothes from your weak skin. Lately, his temper has been short, and unbeknownst to you he hasn’t always been this way. Even in recent years. You assumed he was always like this, further etching the lines that softened on his face (only after yelling at you), but he would argue that you were acting like a little fuckin’ brat… so his snippy remarks were justified. 

"Did all the work of carryin' you here and now you're gonna off yourself? Cause you won't let me help you bathe in the only hot bath water you've seen since you were what.... sixteen? M' not that big and scary, Bunny."

You both had your own ways of dealing with things, you guessed. Verbal expression of any kind besides small, whispered sentences had been scarce. Except for when he was angry. Except for right now.

You stopped listening because suddenly nothing seemed to matter too much. It didn’t all feel so black and white; life-ending like he was making it seem, being a real grump. 

“Are you listenin’ to m–?” 

His tuneful voice now sounded hollow as it bounced off of your blurring peripheral vision. 

You didn’t answer Joel, instead, you listened to the music in your head and wondered how it got there. How you got into his arms. 

Joel called Tommy’s name after you stumbled into his warmth. You winced at his raised voice, almost breaking you from a blissful trance. “God damnit Tommy, get in here. I can’t hold her up and wash her at the same time.” Ten minutes of Joel trying to get you in the bath like you were a fucking toddler was enough. He wouldn’t be able to hold your body up and wash you simultaneously, either. It was a two-person job to do it correctly, and gently. 

Tommy returned an hour or so earlier, saying whoever had followed them had taken another way around, but they’d seen fresh hoof marks. “It’s weird Joel,” he said. 

“Fuck, I just washed these jea-“ his voice coming from down the hallway. He turned the corner, changed into clean clothes, and was taken aback by your bare chest staring back at him from underneath Joel’s veined arm. His skin burns into yours.

“What the fuck did you give her?” He was immediately angry. 

Give me? Peace. Radiating warmth, you thought. He didn’t know that you didn’t feel a lot anymore, but you knew deep down that you felt something more for Joel.

 “She’s in pain, Tommy. Only thing she’s felt in the past nine years is pain. Help me get her in here and then take off the fucking jeans then, I don’t care. Get some towels and then get in here. Don’t know how much time we have ‘fore it wears off.” Joel growled. Then you close your eyes and let go, swimming through the low buzz in between their thrown bickers.

He’d talked real sweet to you, in hopes of getting you to take a bath. Mostly because being 'somewhere else' would be best when washing your wound, away from the water gripping at your side. Another small reason was that he didn’t want to hear you mumble, “no,” again. You needed a proper bath if you were ever going to get better. Although you didn’t seem too interested in such

That must have been the extent of Tommy’s anger, because he listens exactly to what Joel says. He unlocks his leather-backed metal belt and it hits the floor in the same instance, cling. He doesn’t mention the pills again, just takes his jeans off before he turns the handles of the running bath off and assumes his position outside of it. Joel takes his own shirt off, skin soft-looking and warm. He was sweating, skin slightly glowing from the sweat reflecting the bathroom lights. You could smell him. He kept his boxers on, still maintaining a sliver of his respect. He was willing his cock to follow the same.

He sunk himself into the bathwater with a deep groan, one of relief. Tommy walked you closer and helped you climb into the bath. It burned, felt like it was boiling. You were standing in it now, between Joel’s legs, hands still enclosed in Tommy’s as he helped you keep your balance. Joel was trying not to think about how your core was aligned perfectly before him as you stood. You turned, ass swaying as you prepared to sit on his clothed lap. They both looked away as your body was fluctuating in the prettiest fucking way they’d both ever seen. 

“S’okay baby, sit down.” You bent down to hold the sides of the tub, letting Tommy go. You were spread open right in front of Joel’s face, the back of your pussy practically calling to him as it finally came in contact with his lap. 

Tommy turns around and sighs before walking out of the bathroom to fetch towels like an obedient dog. Joel shuffled you, with what would have been awkward silence between the three of you if two of you weren’t high. If one of you hadn’t just left the room.

Joel has already swallowed his dusty piece of sanctuary. You had too, in the tea he made you thirty minutes ago. He was dangling another pill in front of you, now that Tommy was out of sight. This time allowing you a choice; rather than remain silent as it swam down your throat.

"Let me help you sum’ more, baby. Gonna give you something to help the hurt. Don’t go running, an’ don't tell Tommy. He wouldn't like that I'm makin’ you feel good."

Telling Tommy would consist of more non-compartmentalized guilt and yet another thing for him to look down upon Joel for. Another bullet point to add to Tommy’s list of Reasons Joel is a Fucking Asshole. And you needed help right now. This is how he could help you. So no, he would not be telling Tommy that he fed the girl more pills, too. She was simply exhausted and needed help bathing. She was in pain and needed him; them. Tommy would have done the same, no?

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

He notes your lack of hesitation to open your mouth for him. He places the bitter thing there, gently. 

“Swallow.” 

He smirked as you obeyed.

“You’re a’ good little thing, you know. S'good to listen and mind.” He tucked your hair behind your ear so that it wouldn’t keep falling in your face.

His drugs were now yours. His regrets, too. And he secretly hoped that his desires were burning into your body and being met with the same inner incineration. But he wasn’t regretting it right that moment. Not as he watched your body slacken. He knew your entire being was numb when you were reaching up at him, fingers looking for feeling. 

His thumb ran across the plumpness of your bottom lip and his thighs flexed inadvertently. You felt the small jerk of his body, your eyes drawn upwards meeting his. He felt the moment your breathing became deeper, slipping through his skull and resting on the center of his lust. Then he heard the teetering of the old house as it sang. He heard chatter outside, and it all sounded happy, nothing scary around. He returned to your nose, where a little black wish sat, kissing your cheek. He moved his thumb up to brush the eyelash away and whisper his own silent prayer.

You looked around his face before resting your gaze on his lips, and he knew that you were slipping deeper too. The moment ended in a split second torn into a million, and you were looking him in the eyes. Your pupils are already blown, helpless, and in need of strong arms to hold you upright. It fucking hurt. You hadn’t been so willing without the drugs. The pit of his stomach crawled in need as your back rested against it. Your ass was scooted up, and he could feel the break between your legs, could feel the warmer skin of your pussy kissing his thighs.

He loosely assumed that you’d never been in the bath with a man before, either. Probably never been naked in front of one... or two. And he knew that it shouldn’t be something he was proud of, to have you here, safe in his arms and naked in his bath. But he was. 

“Feel something?”

“Mhmm.” 

He felt your response in the tone of your flexing abdomen. His wide fingertips sink into your cushioned fat and the softness of your stretch marks. It stung, the water, like having his presence near it set it off, simmering around his body, trying to kiss anything of him that it could. The water was pretty pink for a few moments, your body releasing the hold it had on your dried blood and the dirt accompanying it. His hands were occupied by the washcloth he was softly rubbing against your body. Then it was dark, and whenever you looked down it was harder and harder to see the end of his legs, stretching out before and underneath you, holding your body (against his) up. “Fuck me.” It was he who had released that sound.

“Good, been staring out tha’ window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

You did what Joel wanted of you, and quickly you fell into the heavy light buzzing right outside of yourself like your aura was bouncing off of the smoldering color... like a blanket, maybe. One of blurred confessions and soft, radiating heat. Your arms are heavier but in a slow melting comfort, and it feels like butterflies right above your hip bones crawling right towards your cunt in a low pulse. As if the energy moved and hovered itself into your underwear and is prodding its fingertips into your soaking center, touching every bit of swollen flesh as his fingers disappear into you. But he’s sitting still, you think. He is everywhere but inside of you.

Your memories lilt against your skull, retracting from any indication of themselves. Much of who you were is gone, left in dark patches of shadow and musk. Outlines of a monster (human) ((him)) setting his jaw on your shoulder from behind, willing the air to kiss that spot right under your ear. Your own blood, his sweat. The undulating sway of his plush lips and impending jaw from below. You’d only seen him this way, from below. Like he was something holy, forever above you and rarely looking down. You reach up and feel his face, running the sensitive skin of your fingertips against his stubbly chin and neck. 

-

Most of your time was spent contently sitting in your (Joel’s) favorite chair, the one you hadn't really left or released yourself from, just assuming that it had now formed to your body. Maybe you had melted into the dirty crevices, instead. You wanted nothing more than to sink into it and become a part of the worn and well-loved fabric. No one expected anything of this chair. For it to simply exist confirms its usefulness.

A week or so ago, you had been dying, pooling blood turned your skin terian-like, how the tips of your fingers used to turn in the now-cold bath. He was right– it had been years. This death doesn't feel much different. Just slower. You had been doing better before Tommy left to check the perimeters and outward land of Jackson. They didn’t know that no one would be following you. Or looking for you… needing you. Praying for you.

Joel thinks a lot about the comfort-glaze of your eyes whenever you saw Tommy that day like you’d been happy that he was there to see you off, hold your hand as you looked into the sky and deflate into the ground. He thinks about how you’d probably rather have him here, now.

Maybe that’s what you write in your notebook, still sitting in the chair, but this time with your face turned towards your lap, completely lost under the lamp every night around 10:37.

Maybe that's what is feeding into his mood.

You would have already been in that bath if Tommy were to ask you, rather than Joel. He thinks about how Tommy’s eyes lit up when he first looked into yours, hazel. Gaze flashing as if in recognition of an importance. Joel could see a hint of the brother he once knew, before his world ended. Before all of your worlds ended. He knew in that moment that something shifted for the both of you, but for Joel, it felt like drowning.

He looked at you and he saw the torn, soft skin of a small animal. He didn’t know that the damage was on the inside. 

Joel resented the way he was drawn to you, it made him viscerally angry at himself. He was angry at how calling you baby had been so easy, the way he felt his cock thicken at the sound of your grunt in agreement. Or the smell of you, even though you hadn’t bathed in god knows how fucking long. He pretended it was the drugs, but it wasn’t. These were his secrets and the web was already intertwining with itself. He almost feels like if he were to tug on it now, even more shit would fall out, come unstuck and drag him into the ground to a place where he’s surprised he isn't lying already. 

How can you hide such a carnal want? He’s unfamiliar with the feeling. Uncomfortable with it. 

What would they say? Would Tess say? “One more pussy for you to fuck, Joel? This time it's new and fresh, betcha could teach her a thing or two, huh?” Tess had always been the jealous type, Joel clocked it the first week they met. She hid it well, but you can’t hide from someone who recognizes something in you, because they recognize it in themselves, too. Joel and Tess, Tess and Joel. The town knew there was something happening between the two of them, but no one said anything. They knew Joel was her loyal guard dog.  They knew not to disturb Mr. Miller's peace. He was a kind enough man, besides that.

He was hoping for anything other than to hear the question, "You think you can save this one, too?" He knew that he couldn't. He couldn't promise your safety. However, he could sense that you were in need of it. Perhaps not obviously at first glance; you appeared tough on the surface, but there was something in your eyes that begged him, “Release me. Let me rest.” Something calling his name. He was hearing it now, in the cadence of your voice, whispering around his head as he stopped himself from touching you. 

He knew that they, you, would get him in trouble if he didn’t stop it and try to pawn it off to someone else before it (his desire) got too bad. “Hey, look, she’s with him, not me. Now let me sit and stutter into the darkness while you take the only thing that has made you feel an inch of something in the past month.”

They would chain him up if he ever admitted the level of his desires. Embarrassed at the way he was already entirely attached to you. Something about, “I almost killed you, but let me be the savior. Love me enough to let me swallow you whole,” probably wouldn’t sit too well. 

“Joel?” you questioned, slow and small. 

His skin rises instantly, stunned by your sound and the touch of your body. “What did you–?” he softly shhh’s you because suddenly, the way your body hums into his when you speak is too much. Your hand continues to fall slowly against the thicker hair near his jaw, ghosting over unsaid words and lips. His breathing was becoming too heavy for someone who was just there to be a savior. 

“Gettin’ clean feels good,” his heavy thumbs pinching deeper into skin, voice far away and muffled under yearning, drowning, “don’t it, pretty?” 

You let your arms hit the water, too tired and blissed out to hold them up longer. He chuckled and it rang through every inch of your nude being. The water splashed, and the roundness of Joel’s lower belly retracted quickly from your back, startled by the closeness of your body. You hadn’t felt it before, his whole self pressed firmly against you. The thickness of it. Your thighs oozed over his lap, completely covering him. Your feet ended at almost his mid-leg. He stretched further out in the bath ahead of you. 

Joel didn’t need a verbal response from you. Knew you couldn’t give him one anyway. He knew that he should, that’s the right way to go about this. But he had just carried you over his lap for a week, bleeding out on him, screaming. He would help you relieve yourself, too, when needed. Couldn’t pee by yourself the first couple of days. Didn’t bother him much, not after what he’d seen. He’s had much worse cross his hands. He knew the whole ride back that if you were conscious enough to know that you were still alive, you’d be embarrassed to hell that he would help you off the horse, pull your pants down, and hold you. He couldn’t understand why that had shuffled something inside of him. The point is, he’s seen it all anyway. All of you, physically at least. Now he was simply just helping you out some more. Until you could tell him to stop. It's the least he could do if he really did shoot her.

He watched as they pulled the bullet out of your side, Tommy pale-faced in the corner, shrinking. 

Joel knew you were out from the pain meds they had stuck into your veins, but that wasn’t a good enough promise that you would sit still through it, that it would be painless. 

When you hold more weight, you need a little more. 

He slipped you a little something extra before all the men got there that night to see and help. Your body was lying on his kitchen table, sweating and tired, dying. But you– you were asleep with a soft smile on your lips. He held you still, just just in case, hands pushed down into your cushioned stomach. The other was around your wrists, positioned just above your head so that the ‘doctors’ had room to move freely around your side. It was hard not to stare at a body that looked well-fed and healthy, in a world like this. Your breasts were moving softly with every movement of your body from other hands. Your hair under your arms was dark and visible in the way he was holding your hands above your head.

No one dared speak upon your body with Joel around, especially since he was the one that dragged you in here, meaning you were his property, Miller property, now. 

-

TOMMY looked away upon entering, watching Joel retreat from where he was whispering into your ear. He could hear the bass of his brother's voice, slowly echoing in the hallway. He would pretend, for the sake of his sanity, that he didn’t know exactly what was happening before witnessing it. Especially after Joel had mentioned a couple of times that you seemed closer to his age, meaning keep an eye on this one, brother. “She’d probably like ya more anyway, younger n’ more capable. Bigger name in Jackson, too.” This coming from the mouth of a man who even went as far as to say, “Coulda’ made a good wife,” three hours after shooting her.

People all deal with things differently, he guesses.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he secretly craved something that his big brother was dangling in front of him, knowing that somehow he had the advantage. But then Tommy felt guilty thinking that way. Joel had been through so much and lost too many people for Tommy to get in the way of whatever look took over your body as you sat against his chest, halfway immersed in water and looking up into Joel’s face. You looked more peaceful now than you have at any moment since stepping into this house.

“Come and try to get her, Tommy.” 

But of course, he won’t show that he yearns for you, too. It feels wrong. That Joel was the one to kill you but you were staying with him; that he was your primary safekeeper and healer. You were sitting on his lap, nipples hard and body at attention, peacefully asleep with your cheek pushed up against the hair on Joel's chest, resting in the arms of the man who nearly succeeded at killing you. 

If he were to say anything else, it would be, “I know you fucking drugged her, Joel. N’ you didn’t even give her a choice.” But he didn’t want to wake a sleeping bear, not right now. Not when you looked so peaceful and pain-free for the first time since they grabbed the world from underneath your feet. Not when the very thing Tommy could not stop thinking about was lying on the bear’s chest. 

-

YOU can feel yourself between your legs. It’s the kind of absentee pulse that you almost want to stop, but it feels too good. Light fingertips brushing the hair on the back of your neck. Like that of knowing a lightning storm is crawling its way across the night sky. Or hearing the neighbor roll their trash can down their road, unable to tell if it’s thunder or an earthquake in its deep humming, only to be relieved that it is in fact another human existing in close proximity to you. Although not something that you remember too well now, just the feeling. It’s surprising and suspenseful at the same moment. It’s love and then what comes after. 

There’s always an after. 

Then you feel the drip running from right inside of you into the hot water, against the fluttering of your thickening lips. 

Please. Kiss me here. Hard, hurtful, and sinful. Strip me to my bones and then use them as your toys. Then tell me I’m a good girl and run your hands through my hair. Tell me I fought good and hard and then let me lie here for a while. 

Chanting like a prayer. 

You remember the smell of his lap, much different than the smell of his neck, but still devastatingly carnal. You cradled into the warmth of his neck; in the burn of his embrace and you sat there, teetering between consciousness and the bliss of finally being held. You had always been afraid that you would leave the world and not even be able to wrap your own arms around you. But someone was holding you before the ground will be—  forever. This didn’t feel like dying through. 

This felt like something else. Similar, but different. 

You sat on top of Joel’s lap in the bath for at least an hour, resting your head on his shoulder, turning and resting it against his chest, too. They both washed you, silently eating you up. Tommy stood outside of the bath, combing your hair after Joel ran his gruff hands through it, pawing at your scalp and rubbing the dirt (hurt) from your scalp. No one talked, everyone inside their own thoughts.

Joel was stuck thinking about the small bags of things you had lost grasp on whenever you fell (were shot). It looked like time-worn items that meant something, from before the world was this way. One is an old driver's license- your smile, happy, content, young. Your name, now repeating in Joel’s head over and over, and over and over, coating every inch of him. He still hadn’t heard it come from your lips. 

9 years ago, this all started. You, now in your mid-20s. How long had you been all alone? No one had come running to your corpse. 

They had come to the conclusion that you were doing well on your own. You weren’t skin and bones like most of them who are lucky enough to survive and find their way to Jackson. You were thick, and heavy in the most beautiful way. Heavy meant healthy, able to hunt, and useful. It meant maybe being able to carry children. It meant handfuls of skin and whispered praises. It meant more to wash, to take in, and try not to touch. It was too much for both of them. The only difference is that Joel knew he was a weak man. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he kept feeling this way. 

After they removed you from Joel’s lap, they towel dried you and you slowly became more aware of how different four large hands felt grasping at your body, taking care of you. Helping you.

An hour or so had passed and Tommy was lying in bed next to you, reading something. Joel turned the corner and leaned up against the doorframe. 

“Tommy.” There was tar in his throat, dripping down the back of his tongue and settling in his chest. He was a million pounds and his legs could no longer bear the weight of her. Of you. Of his guilt for slipping your drugs and undressing you in his bathroom. 

He looked into you, bounced off the sides of your mind, and then straight into the bed you were lying upon, sleeping so peacefully next to his brother. Tommy sees the pain in Joel's eyes, hung lower in embarrassment. 

He did this to you. He took the life of someone who had the rest of this fucked up world ahead of her. And it was a slow and painful death, too. You were someone’s daughter. It’s fucked up how the world works like that, huh? It wasn’t enough losing his own daughter- he had to kill someone else too. Does your dad, husband, or mother, feel you slipping from the world? Do they hear hushed whispers in the night of your name leaving something tongue? 

Joel stopped believing in God a long time ago. He was slipping from his grip, facing the fall, and Sarah’s last moments solidified his feet on the ground. Almost under. Still surprised it’s not under. 

“I’ll take her, Joel. In the mornin we’ll pack up some things and go back to my house.” He said softly, nodding and looking down at the ground in an unspoken, “I know.” 

It's Tommy who steps forward, taking charge and offering to care for you. He can sense his brother’s connection to you, why he wants to save you so badly. So much so that he can’t. He doesn’t trust himself for what will happen if someone else dies under his watch, because of him. Someone innocent. “I know she’s sleepin’ but can we have a moment?” Joel asks. 

Tommy doesn’t question him, he marks his page, sets down his book, and carries his body from the bed to the hallway. Joel waited a moment and assured me that you were tucked in well, warm from the bath. He sighed, one of pain. 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was stern in the way that held back his tears. “You have to believe me,” he whispered your name, the first time it left his tongue and he wanted to say it over and over again. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that to you without askin’.” He caressed your face, watching as your body reacted to his touch, stirring, before the bed creaked with the weight of his body leaving, and then he was gone. You had heard everything, felt him leaving. The room felt entirely too empty.

The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” 

Tommy entered the room again and sank under the covers. He moved his body closer to you and you decided to bask in it, instead.

-

You wake up, unclear but clean. You don’t remember last night in great detail, or at least a few hours of it, at all. He slept peacefully despite the world’s end, cocooned in a haven his mind crafted. Your mind was far less forgiving— or maybe you still hadn’t learned how to ‘deal with it’. You always felt like everyone dealt with It better. The room lay shrouded in darkness, your thoughts raging, Joel’s words echoed in your mind, etching against the soft inside of your head, deeper with each repetition. His guilty confession and desperate plea for forgiveness replayed. But forgiveness was no longer something you believed in. The world had ended, shattered, and reassembled without remorse. You are sober now. You fall back asleep. 

Your eyes opened again to Tommy caving the bed closer to him, moving your body closer, too. You closed your eyes quickly, away from him, and pretended you hadn’t been awake and listening to the lull of his deep breathing, trying to gain your standing. You felt comforted, waking up next to his freckled shoulders. The hazy light of morning was trailing in from the window and laying out on the carpet, stretching itself in the morning confusion.

There was one thing you were absolutely-fucking-sure about, and it was that Joel Miller had drugged you, and it had secretly awakened something unknown inside of you. It tickled, but it was shoving its way up your stomach and relentless, neverending in its pursuit of something. 

Tommy Miller had saved you. At least he had put you to bed, it seems. And with him, too, rather than the one who seems to be dissolving into his own. Your hair was wet and you smelled like Joel, but you were shrouded in Tommy’s clothes. Slightly more fitting, and better kept together. 

You’d never slept in a bed with a man before. And then all of sudden there were two, interchangeably. Brothers. One that smiled above your eyes and one below. Ones that rocked the bed differently each time their body swam through the damp covers. 

You’d never taken a bath with a man either. Never had anyone's brother ever pulled your sinking body out of bathwater. You remember the inward push of the water and the hands that followed, reaching through it, pushing you forward to Tommy. 

There’s a quick assessment you’ve always done, automatically but unintentionally, “Would this one stop if I asked him to?” Most are ‘no’s. Tommy was a yes in your mind. He would put away his soft, white wings and free you from his divinity if you were to ask.  

~

He was sipping his coffee, dressed in his usual, alone at the table. He had opened the blinds he made sure three times he shut last night. The smoke billowed from the base of the cup into his face and hair, mixing with the silver tuffs. They shone against the darkness at the nape of his neck and the bottom of his chin from the emitting light. 

He looked calm sitting there, as content as a devil could. He felt you before you had even turned the corner upstairs, but he didn’t say anything. He never really did. 

That being said, you can't remember much of anything besides wondering if it was indeed your body that rustled the ground that day. It was, and then you felt a man. A few days could have been weeks, and suddenly you were sitting in a town. A word that didn’t mean too much for a long time, but it did again; sitting at the breakfast table of a man, undulating under his gaze and between the blank spaces of your memory. 

An animal caged inside itself looks for relief in any way it can. Even if the relief is a different kind of pain masked as want. It meant throwing away your expectations and doing what it took to survive. 

You intended on speaking first. Rather, you reached the bottom of the stairs and tucked Tommy’s red flannel across your sparsely clothed body, and suddenly heard, “Shouldn’t be half-naked when Ellie’s here. She’s a kid.”

He didn’t even take the time to move his attention away from his coffee cup. That would be too much effort given to you. You ignored him, wanting to scream, “Was she here last night when you played with me like I was your little fucking doll?” You didn’t give him what he wanted, but still hoping he would give you what you did. 

You had watched the back of your eyelids dance with the small red and green dots for two more hours before getting up, willing remembrance. And oh, did it come.

“Got any more of those?”

“Of what?” He spat, eyebrows lowering in pretend interest in his hot coffee again… into his fuming lap. He knew exactly what the fuck you were talking about. How dare he take advantage of you and then throw it to the side like nothing happened. He was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he got high and took you with him. 

“This is feeling’ a lot different than last night. Those little round things that kept me pliant an’ dead enough for you to press yourself into my naked body? – Joel, do you think I’m not payin’ any fuckin’ attention? The second I tasted the salt on your fingertips, I knew it was you shovin’ pills down my throat. I knew it. And the way you were talking to me, calling me babygirl and sweetheart? Then I didn’t know anything, for a while. Not really. But Tommy,” you were raising your voice now, “Tommy was there too, then I woke up in his bed with his clothes on instead of yours— just tell me what the fuck happened Joel!”  

“Lower your voice, right now.” He was pointing at you, and his body moved closer to yours. “You… you wanted it Bunny,” He growled, “You practically drooled across my palm.” He sighed, gathered the lies from his web, and prepared them. He had already prepared his own cocoon, years ago.

He hadn't been the only one whose high wore off far too early in the night. 

“You didn’t say you didn’t want ‘em and—“ 

Then you spoke above the sentence he was starting to dig deeper into the ground, to his surprise, in a softer tone. One that had a hint of sweetness to it, of want. 

“Sweethear–”

“Do it again. Felt good.”

You liked it. Wasn’t the only thing he wanted to shove down your throat, either. No, no, no. Shaking the thought from his head. 

He removed his eyes from the creases in the wood floor and sewed them into your gaze instead, eyebrows cresting. He wanted to make sure he heard you right. He wanted to hear you repeat it.

“Say that again?”

“Said feels good when you touch me like that. When I’m melting into your flesh and sinking down your bones. That’s what the water felt like. First, it felt like fire, perfect for a Devil, and then it felt like a calm warmth. Then your hands were touchin’ me and, no one has ever touched–

a pause, “like—“

“No one has ever touched you, bunny?”

“No, Joel. And I hate you so much for making me feel this way. For showing me something I can’t continue to have because it’s wrong and, for being so sweet to me and then eating me up like I'm a burden because you couldn't just fucking kill me when you had the chance... and…I can barely even fucking walk. I am in so much pain but you took it away for a while last night. You took everything bad away. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Hate me, huh? Thas’a strong word for someone who is depending on me, wanting more.” Good. This is how it needed to be. He needed to take care of Ellie, himself now. He promised her that he would.

“Depending on you? Sorry, I forgot we hadn’t got to that part of the conversation yet, past the one where you drugged me. You dropped me into your brother's arms as of last night, didn’t you? I remember it, you musta popped one too many, huh?”

Your attitude and his lack of sleep were making it easier to will the words off the end of his tongue. 

“He seemed better suited for someone…” he looked you up and down, “like yourself.” 

You didn’t have anything to say to that, and he was immediately sorry after speaking about it. 

“For being such a big bad man in this town, you don’t have your fucking shit together,” returning the look he gave you, “do you?”

You were out of breath, releasing too much of yourself into his anger, knees weak and side-splitting in pain. You weren’t going to tell him that you were awake when he begged for your forgiveness. That you heard every word he whispered and repeated it back to yourself as if it was a passage pulled right from the pen-marked Bible your dad used to shove into your hands nightly. 

He thought you had been listening to everyone talking, in the mess hall and whatever drama Ellie had brought home. Maybe even Tommy had told you about the real Joel. The real Joel will tear you apart. 

You sat down on the sunken chestnut couch and the pillows lifted more of his smell into your space, settling and trying to get comfortable. You both remained silent, stung. It made you even more mad that he had the ability to stick straight into your anger like that. So you wished for a way to really hurt him like you were some kind of child.

You weren’t done yet. You were angry. So fucking angry at everything you have endured. And he was standing there, pity and disgust in his eyes–but he was looking, seeing… listening. 

“Tess.” Her name stung like the sound it ended with, for a reason you didn’t know, but inherently felt after last night. The hurt that flashed into his dark pupils spread through the tightness in his jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin-”

“Oh. Shut. Up. Joel. Heard ‘er talking to Tommy last night. Came knocking on the door around 1:30 am, asking for you. Tommy went to your room and you weren’t in there. Went back downstairs and said he couldn't find you, seen you only a couple of hours ago. She was throwing her hands against the door like it was hers to tear down. Guess she didn’t know I wasn’t with you,” you took a deep breath, trying to relieve the pain so you could continue, “Have you seen him? N’ that girl? Tommy, she's a fucking kid. Ain't right for him.” You mimicked her concern. You knew immediately who she was asking for. “Maybe I should go ask Tess if she would give me a few, she seems like she’d like to know what’s going on.” 

His jaw was flexing, his eyes burrowing into you, biting the inside of his lip. You continued, 

“Feels’good being numb for a’while. I’m always fanning off another fire but it always finds the loose thread and kisses it ablaze anyway. This feels like sinking... like I don’t have to fight anymore.”

His deep breath stifled the fire on his chest.

“Know it’s good,” his tone falling deep, low, and warning, “But you don’t need anymore.”

“Don’t I? You were the one who fucking shot me. The least you could do is slip me some pills. I’m in pain, Joel. I’m hurting.” He knew that you weren’t just talking about the wound in your side, that he put it there with his own split metal. He wanted to take that hurt away, get you curled up tight against him and high, painless, protected yet free– from a world you were too young to be living in alone. But how could he protect you from even himself?

He didn't even save her. Nothing has changed now besides the fact he finds it harder and harder to get out of bed every day. That he’s running low on whiskey and that's what keeps the bear inside. The pills keep it sedated. How could he admit that he was not fit to be your protector, and the only other person in town who it could be, was Tommy?

That's why today was the last day you'd be slamming down his stairs. Your footsteps were a reminder that the hurt animal had made its way into his house. A reminder that he was the one who hurt it.“‘M not given’ you anymore. So don’t open your mouth about it again. Got it?"

As always, please let me know if I missed any warnings / want me to add you to the taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @faggotinie @justlulu

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Congrats on 1k mom 💗 You’re the best writer there is.

Tarot Submission:

The Devil Card w/ Joel Miller (56|post outbreak) 😈

Something about this man being tempted then giving into his lust for you and getting so addicted and unable to stop just hits different.

Throw in the smut baby. You know what I like. 😏

thank you, my love!

the devil - upright

temptation, addiction, sexuality, powerful attraction

title: siren song

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x female reader AND post-outbreak!tommy miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3201

summary:

Staying with Tommy in Jackson comes with one caveat - the temptation of you in the bedroom next door.

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), post-outbreak in jackson, don't ask me where maria and ellie are in all of this, not a threesome fic, voyeurism - overhearing someone having sex, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, teasing, billiards as a plot device, dubcon - joel going into your room while he thinks you're asleep but you're not, kinda perv joel, dominant joel, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, creampie, no use of y/n. let me know if i missed anything!

The first time Joel Miller sees you is in Tommy’s kitchen wearing nothing more than a pair of panties and a t-shirt, sitting on the counter with your legs swinging against the cabinet as you regard him with keen eyes over the rim of your coffee cup. Tommy doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by the scene.

“This is my brother, Joel,” Tommy says, introducing you by name. “He’s goin’ to be stayin’ in the other spare room while we work on gettin’ a house setup for him.”

“She live here, too?” Joel asks. Tommy’s interrupted by you hopping off the counter.

“She does. That a problem?” You reply. Joel fights to keep his gaze level with yours, to not let his eyes wander to the hard points of your nipples pressed against your shirt or over your legs and your barely clothed pussy.

“No problem at all, darlin’.” 

A grin spreads across your face, a wicked gleam in your eye that has the hair on the back of Joel’s neck prickling with unease. You turn to set your empty mug in the sink, and his gaze drops to the curve of your ass in a brief moment of weakness. 

“See you around, Joel,” you say, stepping past both men and heading for the stairs, hips swaying. When you’ve disappeared from view, Joel looks to Tommy and finds his younger brother staring after you, eyes dark. 

“You with her?” Joel asks, voice rough. Tommy smirks.

“Sometimes.”

________

Joel lies awake in bed, staring into the darkness and waiting for sleep to consume him. He feels himself about to drift off, eyes growing heavy, when he hears a noise through the wall by his head, the wall he shares with the room you are staying in. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, planning to ignore it.

“Fuck!”

“Quiet, baby, we’re not alone anymore.”

The sound of his brother’s voice is followed by a muffled whimper that goes straight to Joel’s cock. He turns on his back, sleeping the last thing on his mind now as more moans drift through the wall to his room. He palms his hardening length, biting his lip to hold back the moan that echoes yours.

“Tommy, please!” 

“Always so polite when you want somethin’, huh?” 

Joel reaches his hand into his sleep pants, wrapping his hand around his cock with a bitten off groan. He gives himself a few rough strokes, straining to hear more from the room next door. Your little noises grow louder, Tommy’s warning a lost cause. Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he pumps his cock, hips chasing his palm, and he imagines himself in the room with you instead of Tommy.

He’d lay himself between your legs and lap at your cunt like a starving man, tongue circling your clit before dipping inside of you as you writhe beneath him. He would slip a finger inside of your aching hole, pumping it slowly and dragging it across your front wall in tandem with the attention from his tongue on your clit. When you would beg him for more, he’d be gracious enough to work another finger inside of you, stretching you open for him.

“Tommy, come on, stop teasing. Need you to fuck me.”

Joel bites his fist to hold back the groan that claws up his throat. He imagines himself hearing that plea first hand, pulling his fingers free from your dripping wet pussy and bringing them to your lips, a silent demand for you to lick them clean. Only when he’s satisfied would he grip his cock, pressing it to your entrance and sliding each thick inch inside as slowly as he can, driving you wild.

The sound of flesh against flesh joins his fantasy, the dull thud of your bed against the wall like a metronome for his hand over his cock. He thinks about how you would look beneath him, fucked out and cock drunk as he pounded into you.

“God, Tommy, yes, just like that!”

Joel’s vision of you claws at his shoulders in desperation, crying out his name as your cunt flutters around him, squeezing him deliciously. His hips pump frantically now as he chases his orgasm, biting into his knuckle so hard the taste of copper floods his tongue.

“Fuck, yes, yes, I’m gonna cum!”

Joel spills over his hand with a gasp, working himself through it with a loose fist. The only sound he can hear now is the rush of his blood in his ears as his heart pounds a frantic rhythm in his chest.

It’s quiet now, the sound of your moans just an imprint on the ether. Joel’s eyelids grow heavy as his breathing returns to normal.

Sleep comes to him quickly after that.

________

You’re in the kitchen again the next morning when Joel shuffles in. You’re dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt this time, much to Joel’s relief. He’s already dreading looking you in the eye after what he heard and did last night, the last thing he needs is the additional temptation.

You wordlessly pass him an empty mug from the cupboard. He can feel your eyes on him as he pours himself coffee and takes a sip. When he finally meets your eyes, you’re smirking.

“Sleep well, Joel?”

He nearly spits his coffee. “Yeah, slept fine.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want anything to disturb you,” you tell him, patting his shoulder before you leave the kitchen. 

That feeling of unease returns to him again as he stares after your retreating figure.

________

It takes two weeks for Joel’s sanity to start fraying at the edges. 

He’s two glasses of whiskey deep at the Tipsy Bison, pretending he’s not watching you play pool across the bar. You’re bent over the table to line up your shot, hips swaying enticingly. You shoot, cue ball careening off the edge of the table and into a pocket. You hang your head and laugh as your opponent gives you a hard time. When you look up, your eyes lock on him and you wave him over.

Joel’s feeling just crazy enough to obey.

“You play at all, Joel?” You ask as he approaches, hand on your cocked hip as you lean on the cue stick. 

“Have before. Been a while,” he grunts in reply. His short answers don’t deter you.

“Well, you got any tips? I can’t lose to Jeremy again.”

Joel’s eyes flick to Jeremy. The younger man looks away. He’s seen this kid on patrol before, all confident young swagger. He may have already given him a ration of shit for doing some stupid posturing while out on shift.

He returns his attention to you and your expectant gaze. Tossing back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on an empty table, he takes the cue stick from you.

Joel circles the table, eyeing the options. Picking his spot, he hinges at his hips and lays his left hand on the green felt, tilting his thumb up and resting the cue stick in the channel between his thumb and forefinger.

He lines up his shot, drawing his right arm back before shooting forward, knocking the cue ball into the solid dark red ‘7’ ball, sinking it into a pocket.

“Okay, you gotta show me how to do that,” you say as he returns to your side. His shoulder brushes yours as he stands beside you, waiting for Jeremy to take his turn. 

When the cue ball settles, you look to him for guidance. Assessing the table, he nudges you towards the most advantageous corner. 

“You’re gonna aim for the green one there,” he tells you, pointing in the direction of the green ‘6’ ball positioned in a prime spot. You lean over, just as Joel did, but your legs are too close together, your hips too far from the table.

Without thinking, Joel wraps his hands around your hips, using a foot to knock your feet further apart. He presses a hand between your shoulder blades, forcing your body closer to the table. He leans over you, his hips flush to your ass as he stretches his left arm along yours and demonstrates the position of his fingers for the cue stick.

“Now draw back,” Joel instructs. Your hips shift against him as you do and he bites back a moan, his cock twitching in his jeans. “And let it fly.”

You hit the cue ball into your intended target, sinking it in a pocket. Joel stands as you turn to face him in your excitement, the position pressing you so close your chest brushes his when you inhale sharply.

“Good shot,” he murmurs, eyes dipping to your parted lips. 

You smile at him, and he knows he’s been caught just by the gleam in your eye. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Guess I’ll try the next one by myself.”

You’re turned back to the table before he can respond. He watches you expertly position yourself for the shot, tapping another solid ball into a pocket. Your next shot hits against two solids, sending them both into separate pockets. 

You go three moves without missing before you land the cue ball at a disadvantageous angle. As Jeremy lines up his shot, your gaze flicks to Joel.

The smirk on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

________

Joel lies awake in bed as the sounds from your room fade, silence settling over him once more. He hears the faint click of your door being shut a few minutes later, signaling Tommy’s left your room.

His cock is hard as a rock, tenting his sleep pants obscenely, a wet spot forming on the fabric. He palms himself, hissing at the friction. Closing his eyes, he conjures up an image of you bent over the pool table, ass in the air and glistening cunt on display for him. You beg him to touch you, to give you some sort of relief, but he holds back.

The feel of his hand around his cock brings hardly any relief. He groans in frustration, bringing his hands to his face and pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, trying to erase the image of you from his mind.

It’s not enough. 

Joel gets up from the bed, pacing, hoping the movement will distract him enough. He tries to think of mundane things, like his to-do list for the morning or the patrol report he has to write or even baseball stats from a lifetime ago, anything to take his mind off the image of you naked and begging for him, making those same sounds that plague his memories.

He’s got a hand on the doorknob before he realizes what he’s doing, turning it slowly and slipping out the gap in the door. He approaches your door, the only sound in the hall is his labored breathing as he grips the handle.

Joel opens your door slowly, easing inside like a shadow. Your beside lamp is still on, bathing the room in a warm glow that allows him to easily find the shape of you in bed, curled up on your side with your bare back facing him. 

He moves closer, until he’s standing at the edge of the bed. He trails a finger down the smooth skin of your arm, watching as your muscles jump at the contact. He’s playing with fire here. He knows that what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t help himself. The softness of your skin is a thousand times more addicting than the noises you make that replay on a loop in his mind. 

Joel’s finger nudges the edge of the sheet at your waist, drawing it back with careful movements until he’s exposed the curve of your ass, your pussy just barely visible. His mouth waters at the sight and he palms his cock, biting back a groan.

You wiggle around and Joel freezes, adrenaline coursing through his veins. You turn over onto your back, eyes wide open and a serene smile on your lips.

“Was wondering when you’d give in,” you murmur. You reach your arms above your head, the move drawing Joel’s attention to your breasts, your nipples already tight points. “You’re a bit of a perv, aren’t you? Coming in here after your brother fucked me, all turned on. Touching me.” Your hand reaches out, fingers ghosting over his abdomen and trailing down his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a pained noise. “You wanna know what Tommy does to me? While you’re in there with just your hand, listening to me cum?”

Joel’s breath is coming in harsh pants now as he opens his eyes to watch you, your hands coming up to knead your breasts and pull at your nipples.

“He always starts with my tits,” you say. “Loves ‘em. Grabbing them, biting them, licking them. God, it feels so good, Joel.”

Your hands slide down your tummy. “Then, when he’s gotten me all wet from just playing with my tits, he’ll tease me with his fingers.”

Joel’s knees feel weak as he watches your hand dip between your thighs, your back arching from the bed as you swirl your fingers through your slick. You raise your hand, fingers glistening in the dim light.

“You want a taste, Joel?” You ask, holding your hand out to him. 

He leans forward, eyes glued to yours as he takes your fingers between his lips, the earthy taste of you exploding across his taste buds and making him groan. He plants one knee on the bed, then the other, kneeling beside you now as he licks your fingers clean.

“Good boy,” you murmur when you pull your hand back. His cock twitches at the praise.

“Tommy’s gentle. He likes to get me warmed up for his cock,” you continue, sliding your spit slick fingers into your entrance. “You wouldn’t be gentle, though, would you, Joel?”

“I’d fuckin’ ruin you,” Joel growls. You moan, loud and unrestrained, head tipped back against the mattress and your fingers pumping at a rapid pace. The sound of it is music to his ears.

“When he’s got me all stretched around his fingers,” you finally say, voice breathy and fucked out, “he’ll eat my pussy ‘til I’m begging him to fuck me.”

Joel knows the sound of that. Your desperate pleas for Tommy’s cock, the ones that end in a gasp as his brother puts you out of your misery. 

He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist and forcing your hand to still. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“You think this is a silly little game, huh?” He asks, pressing your arm up by your head. “Teasin’ me for weeks?”

Your eyes go wide as he crawls between your legs, wrapping his hands beneath your thighs and pressing your knees up towards your chest, spreading you wide for his hungry gaze. 

“Look at me,” Joel commands. He licks a broad stripe through your folds, a moan spilling from your lips that bleeds into a litany of curses and pleas as he eats your cunt like a man starved, messy and deep. His tongue dips in your fluttering hole before dragging back up to lavish your clit with attention. He sucks the hard nub, rolling it between his lips as you thrash beneath him and fight against his iron grip.

“Fuck, Joel, so good,” you cry, fingers tangling in his hair. He groans at the feel of your nails on his scalp, squeezing his hands harder around your thighs. “I’m gonna cum!”

“I didn’t say you could,” Joel says as he pulls away abruptly, releasing one of your thighs and using his hand to slap your pussy, right over your clit. The move earns him a surprised shout, your body jerking in his hold.

Joel grabs you by your hips, twisting you until you’re face down on the bed. He hikes your ass up high, landing a smack to one cheek for good measure and reveling in the whine you give him in response.

“Stay still,” he demands, shoving his sleep pants and boxers down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. He notches the thick head at your entrance, sliding in the barest inch. “Feel that, baby?”

“Joel,” you cry. “Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me! Ruin me!”

Joel slams in deep, fingers pressing bruises into your hips from how tightly he’s holding you. He doesn’t bother letting you adjust, his rhythm a punishment for your teasing and torment. This is nothing like the slow, maddening fuck he’d imagined. He’s rough, primal, aggressive as he thrusts into you, deep as you can take him.

Your moans are muffled against the mattress in this position and that just won’t do. He’s gone weeks hearing them through the wall, he wants them directly in his ear now. He leans over you, dragging you up by the shoulder so that you’re on your knees with your back to his chest, looping his other arm around your ribs and gripping your breast roughly in his hand.

“Joel!” You sob, head leaning back towards his shoulder and putting your faces close. He tilts his lips to yours, the kiss messy and desperate as he slides through your fluttering heat.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, holding your face against his with a hand around your throat. “Cum all over my cock, baby.”

He can feel you tighten around him, your moans reaching a crescendo that he recognizes intimately. You shake in his hold, the slide of him inside of you slicker than before with your release.

“Tell me, baby, does Tommy ever cum in this perfect cunt?” He asks. You shake your head and he grins, biting into your shoulder roughly, making you shout. “You were just waitin’ for me to come around and fill this little pussy up, huh?”

You’re boneless in his arms but you give a weak little nod. “Please, Joel, want you to fill me up.”

Your words are the final nail in his coffin, his orgasm hitting him with a burst of light across his vision as he groans into your ear, hips pressing tight to yours as he spills inside of you. 

________

The next morning, Joel wakes to an empty bed in a room he doesn’t recognize, sleep pants and boxers still tangled around his thighs. He pulls them up and rolls from the bed, leaving the room and following the scent of coffee.

Both you and Tommy are in the kitchen, laughing when he shuffles in. You hop from the counter and bring a mug over to him, settling it in his hands.

“How’d you sleep, brother?” Tommy asks. He’s got a shit eating grin on his face, one that matches the smirk you’re trying, and failing, to hide on your own.

“Never better,” Joel says, smiling as you burst into giggles and Tommy claps him on the shoulder.

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into a kiss. Joel tugs you out of his hold and against his body, kissing you deeply.

Joel and Tommy are good at sharing, just as brothers always should be.

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist

[girlboss003]

Games don’t even need to be good.. just show me a hot guy with dry humor and a sad backstory and I’ll start doing backflips and giving you my whole life’s savings!!

[ozarkthedog]

Have some smoky Devil/Demon Pedro Edits 😈

Maybe Devil!Joel hears your anguished cries one night and appears before you ready to help in whatever way he can as long as you give him something in return…

[pascalscoffin]

Away From The Devil Masterlist

The trees have eyes and the earth doesn’t hold secrets. When you’re on the run from the devil, only he can see how close you’ve gotten to him. There is no boundaries or hurtles for a beast who never tires waiting for his prey.

Full Pedro Masterlist

Installments with * have smut or content pertaining to smut in them

Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

Pt. IV

Pt. V

Pt. VI

Pt. VII

Pt. VIII

Pt. IX

Pt. X

Pt. XI coming soon

[couldtheyescortelliewilliams]

Do you want to submit a potential protector for Ellie? Click here if you do!

[pedrito-friskito]

// WELCOME TO //

-> kay’s in her ttpd era.

ta-da!!! welcome the tortured writer’s department (kay’s version) - an assortment of fics based on my favourite ttpd songs (yeah I know), along with some bonus tracks and features. I’ve been challenging myself to write shorter fics based on pure vibes from songs, and the current fixaction is the tortured poets department, so here we are. (and most of these are shower thoughts, I’ll be completely honest) there are other ~tentative~ tracks that may or may not appear, the below is mostly confirmed, but still could change! *all characters are subject to change lol*

// THE SETLIST //

fortnight - marcus pike

who’s afraid of little old me? - joel miller

so long, london - captain john price (mw3)

fresh out the slammer - dieter bravo (calculated risks)

guilty as sin? - javier peña

loml - matt murdock

the alchemy - pre!outbreak joel miller

how did it end? - bucky barnes

the prophecy - din djarin

// THE BONUS TRACKS + FEATURES //

champagne problems - frankie morales/santiago garcia

this love - tasm!peter parker

getaway car - sierra six (the gray man)

cruel summer - matt murdock (the kitten and the devil)

coffee by chappell roan - dieter bravo

dinner with friends by kacey musgraves - frankie morales

seven devils by florence + the machine - pero tovar (the warrior and the witch)

-> if you have any other track/character combos you think should be on the setlist, or you’re curious about what I’ve got going, my inbox is open 🤍

[joelsgirl]

The Saint, The Sinner & The Devil Pt. 1

Mafia AU x Narcos x TLOU Cross Over Characters: Mafia DBF!Joel Miller, Corrupt Javier Pena + You/Reader Content Warnings: Age Gap, Size Difference, Rough Sex, DBF, Dirty Talk, Daddy might be used in later parts, No Use of Y/N, Threesome, name calling, might be more that I've missed! Disclaimer & Notes: 1.6k Words >> Yes I know they're the same FC but shhh they're different and it works beautifully. This was inspired by a conversation with the beautiful @dreamsofmandalore + Want to see more? I’d love to see some requests, here! Image Credit: x x

Joel swiped the pad of his thumb across his tongue before flicking through a stack of hundreds. Counting out ten Benjamin's, he handed them over to the agent currently leaning against the wall of his office. Javier was as corrupt as they come, his weekly payment something he'd always collected in person. "And the other half?" He asked in a low drawl, nodding to the door behind Joel as he pocketed the cash.

"Your usual is waiting for you." The money was only half of it. For a DEA agent, Javier Pena was one of his easiest bribes. Sometimes he wondered if the cash was just a diversion, an excuse for him to let out the sinner within. It was hardly enough to justify looking the other way on his dealings and yet here they were, doing the same song and dance they always did.

Joel rose to full height, his ageing knees cracking from the shift in position. He pushed the thought aside, ignoring the fact that fifty-seven wasn't the same as thirty. As far as he was concerned, if he could draw a gun, he had plenty of life left in him.

Ring laden fingers closed around the door handle, pulling it open as Pena brushed passed him. "You joining me this time, Miller?"

Scrubbing his face in contemplation, he checked the rolex on his wrist. Pena was the last meeting on his agenda for the evening. He'd planned on taking his girl home with him but his favourite happened to be Pena's, too... "Ah, fuck it," he motioned to the center of the room, closing and locking the door behind them both after stepping in with him.

The room was nondescript, aged wine colored walls, dark wooden floorboards, a large, deep purple velvet covered daybed in the corner; and you in the middle. Your hands are bound behind your back, the soft leather cuffs tight but not uncomfortable. It's the only thing you're wearing, knowing exactly how Javi likes you. Unencumbered. Your gaze averted, studiously watching the floor despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to look up, to take in the sight of him.

He was so handsome, so was the boss. The pair so similar they could be brothers. They were two sides of the same coin, the dark and supposed light of an unrelenting war - but in this room, they were predators and you, their prey. You shouldn't enjoy his sessions as much as you do but the truth was, you looked forward to them. This had become your favorite part of the week. When you weren't with Joel, that was.

The boys circle you, moving in opposite direction, in perfect synchronicity as they both eye you hungrily. "I never tire of this one, you know?" Pena's accent was always thicker whenever he was in a room with you. So turned on it was like he fell deeper into those base instincts, his field of vision limited to you, and exactly what he'd planned on doing to that perfect little body of yours. You bite your lower lip, your chest rising and falling as you wait with bated breath for one of them to make their move. Joel hung back, letting the agent take the first step. He always did. You knew why they were there, understood the importance of making Agent Pena happy.

He moved behind you, your back pressed against the broad expanse of his chest, both men towering over you even with Joel standing a few steps away. Javier's hand reached around you tenderly, sliding up your thigh, over your stomach towards your breasts. He cupped one, kneading it between his fingers. Your eyes flick towards Joel's, an unspoken question phrased in the way you look at him. “Yes, little one. You'll get to service us both tonight.”

It was the only explanation you were going to get; the only one you needed. Your back arched for the agent, pressing yourself against his palm as his fingers found your nipple, rolling it between them. It wasn't long before Joel closed the distance between you, joining the other man. A large hand slipping down between your legs, three fingers forced into your cunt without hesitation, stretching you wide. Dipping his head, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low murmur. “Mmm, always so tight for me, aren't you, baby?”

His forearm started to move, back and forth, fucking you with a skilled hand, your moans filling the small room. Javier's fist locked in your soft hair, holding you still even though you weren't going anywhere. His hips shift forward, grinding his hard cock against your ass through the form fitting denim he was wearing. Joel's head bent forward, taking the nipple Javi had been working earlier between his lips. 

You moan at the attention, lapping it up, loving being sandwiched between the two violent men. You knew the drill, behave and you shall be rewarded… and so far? You were doing splendidly. Javi's free hand found your tight little ass, massaging it roughly. A low groan fell from his lips, blending with the hard slap that echoed off the walls as you squeal for him. "What do you say, whore?" Joel's voice, commanding in your ear. "Thank you, sir." There was no hesitation in your breathy response.

He could see Javi over your shoulder, his eyes locked onto Joels. There was a glint of approval in them that made the older male proud. His hand came down again, another hard slap in exactly the same spot. Over and over again. Each time, you oblige him with a thank you, Sir and all the while, Joel continued his three finger assault.

Pausing only to give his own hand a break, he palmed at the heat of your flesh, massaging the brilliant mark he’d left behind. His cock was painfully hard, the sight of you writhing between them driving him wild. Tightening his hold on your hair, a harsh jerk forcing your slender back to arch. Your clit grinding against Joel's palm as Javi worked the zipper on his jeans. There would be no foreplay from him, no warning you up or allowing his favorite little toy a chance to get used to the idea of what he was about to do… He lined the swollen head up with your tightest hole and slammed balls deep into your ass. 

You scream at the invasion, your walls massaging him as he pulls back, reaching the very tip and slamming home again. His thrusts brutal as he drills into you. From this angle, he could feel Joels fingers against his length. If only it was his cock, instead...

 Clearly, Joel was of the same mind as he’d raised his head, the hand not buried in your cunt sliding the zipper of his pants down. His hard cock sprung free of its binds, and he swapped the fingers with his length in a matter of seconds. 

The males groaned on impact, their rhythm perfectly in sync. As one moved out, the other moved in. They had done this dance before, were well versed in what they liked…their eyes locked over your head as the pace intensified. 

Joel raised his fingers, still slick with their juices, forcing them between your lips. The soft glow of the overhead light reflecting on the gold rings he wore. Your expert tongue cleaning yourself from Joel's fingers as he pushes them deeper. Javi used the fist in your hair to force your head forward, moving it back and forth. “Take it, slut.” The growl came from Javi and Joel groaned again…

Joel's other hand came down on your tits, catching the nipple hard. Your cry muffled, as was the thanks you offered to him. Pride filled his chest as you continued to behave. Such a good girl for him. Joel repeated his action, slapping you so hard the flesh bounced in retaliation. 

Javi reached around to slap the other one at the same time, ensuring both were attended to while their cocks pistoned in and out of your tight little holes. Their bodies collided with such force, the slaps were as loud as those created by their hands. 

Joel slid out from your slick heat, throwing a knowing glance Javi's way. On a groan, the hand in your hair forced your upper body forward, your legs kicked apart as your body was bent into a right angle. In a quick movement, Javi pulled out of your ass and slammed into your soaking cunt, filling the space Joel previously had.

The devilish grin on Joel's face widened as his hand now took over the hold on your hair, slapping the tip of his heavy length against your lips. “Open for me, whore.” You oblige immediately, your lips sucking that length in between them. He groaned as he let you take control, for a short while, anyway. That expert mouth working Joel like you did this for a damn living.

He could see the muscles on his abdomen ripple and constrict as his breath tightened. Javi continued with his brutal pace, fucking you mercilessly. “Mmmm, such a good little fucktoy. Take it, that's a good girl.” He groaned, slapping your bright red cheeks. His hands dug into the small of your hips, leveraging himself against you to fuck you harder. 

For Javi, it wasn't about the money, or the whores. He could get them anywhere. The cash was cream on the top; the real bribe was you.

The kingpins daughter wasn't anything he could buy, you were something of a prize. The day he'd discovered your affair with your father's best friend, his right hand man, the Cartel's enforcer, turned out to be the best day of his goddamned life.

He'd had all the leverage he needed to take down an empire, the only problem was... he wanted you more.

TAG LIST: @dreamsofmandalore @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @spookyprofessorknightflap >>> If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any other fics, please let me know!